Dilimata
by Alleonh
Summary: When a young Dick Grayson left Wayne Manor to find his parents' killer, what if someone beat him to it? A what if fic, tossing a literary wrench into Gotham City.
1. Chapter 1

I meant to make this chapter longer, but have fell into a bit of a slump. Here's hoping that posting it gets me back in the swing of things.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, made purely for entertainment. No profit was made and no insult intended if this story is terrible (read at your own risk! lol) In short, I don't claim to own it, so don't sue me...trust me, it wouldn't be worth your while...

Full Author's Notes following chapter (please read)

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The bright lights of the circus faded as a growing distance separated him from the only life he had ever known. He sat on his knees in the luxurious back seat of a sleek black car, and stared out the rear window at them. Lights of every color: some strobing, some blinking, some unmoving as they invited people to come and enjoy an evening of fun under the big top. But not all the lights were welcome, and the flashing blue lights of the police cruisers were impossible to miss, and wholly unwanted. Nearby a pair of ambulances pulled away slowly. They had no lights on, no sirens to urge the crowds apart. There was no need for them, for their passengers were beyond the need for haste and urgency. 

There was no urgency in moving the dead.

"Master Richard, I must insist that you turn around and buckle your safety belt."

The young boy could not tear his gaze away from the ambulances. He so desperately wanted to see the lights turn on, the sirens to begin wailing, the vehicles to increase their speeds, forcing everything out of their way as they carried their _living_ patients to the hospital. If he could only will the lights to come on...

"Master Richard..."

Dick Grayson said nothing as he turned to face the front. The kind eyes of the driver watched his young passenger in the rear view mirror as the child fastened the belt across him. He then folded his hands in his lap as he looked out the window at the city of Gotham pass by him. He'd only been in the city a handful of times, mostly with his mother shopping. At night his family belonged to the crowds, their sole purpose to amaze and entertain, but the days were theirs to do as they liked. They shopped and laughed, and his mother especially loved to wander around the cities they visited. Some of the towns were smaller, and if his parents were busy, they were send their ten year old son alone to a nearby store or shop for this or that item, but never in Gotham. Gotham City was dangerous, and he was never to leave the circus grounds without one of them. But that was what he was doing now. He was leaving without them...because they could not come with him, ever again.

He sniffed suddenly, and tears burned his eyes. "I shouldn't leave the circus." he said softly to himself.

The cars only other occupant heard the tiny voice, the first words spoken since he'd guided the small boy into the car, and when the car slowed to a stop at a red light he turned to face him. "I know it's been a long night Master Richard," he said, "But for the time being you cannot remain at the circus. Master Bruce has a few items of paperwork to contend with before returning to the manor, but there was no need for you to remain while he did it. Once we are there you may rest, as you are surely exhausted."

He was nice Dick decided, and he smiled weakly at the older man, Alfred. He'd never met any of his grandparents, but he could not help but believe that this was what they were like. "You can call me Dick," he offered, and was rewarded with a pleased smile, "Richard was what my parents called me whenever I got in trouble."

This garnered a slight chuckle before the light changed and Alfred once more resumed his driving.

Dick settled further into the seat, a laid his head against the head rest, his gaze turned back outside the window. Despite himself, his eyelids grew heavy and he blinked a few times.

"My word... what is this?"

Dick's eyes opened at the voice, and he sat up straighter to look over the front seat and out the windshield. Blue flashing lights... just like before. He huddled back as the car came to stop before the police barricade and the young police officer who had his hand held up, stopping traffic. Alfred rolled down his window and the officer approached.

"I'm sorry sir," The policeman said, glancing at Dick a moment before returning his gaze to the driver. "There's been a reported gas leak in the area ahead. It looks pretty major, so we're redirecting traffic towards the docks for the time being."

"Oh my..." Alfred muttered, looking ahead to the fleet of city utility trucks beyond the flashing blockade or police cars. "That far?"

"Yes sir," The officer nodded, "These lines feed most of southern Gotham, so until the leak is fixed we've got to redirect around. It's a little out of the way, but if you're going through old Gotham to the north, it's the shortest path.

Alfred nodded and glanced into the mirror at the still figure in the backseat. Dick was staring forward at the lights, though he probably was not seeing them. The police presence was probably disturbing the child and little wonder. He'd seen enough police cars tonight to last him a lifetime. Anxious to move on, Alfred nodded once more to the police officer and wished him a good night before turning down the indicated street.

"Just a little detour Master Dick," Alfred said calmingly, "It will take a while longer to reach the manor, but little matter." He saw with satisfaction the small shoulders release their tension, and continued speaking just to fill the silence. "Going this way you will glimpse the docks, and all the vessels it houses. Have you ever been there?" There was the barest hint of negative shake of the head, but at least the small child was listening to his voice, not left to his own thoughts and where they led. Ironically it was the same tactics he'd used many years ago, when another small boy was shaking with grief that threatened to drown him. That loss led to a silent promise that never again would a small child have to face that sadness, not on _his _watch, not in _his _city. Alfred quietly sighed. The slight figure in the backseat was a cruel reminder that one man could not stop a world of evil, despite every intention.

"We...we saw docks in New York one time..."

Alfred's attention turned to the unexpected comment, "Did you now?" He coaxed with open interest.

The black haired head bobbed once, "We went there to see the big green freedom lady in the water."

"The Statue of Liberty," Alfred corrected gently with a smile.

Dick nodded again, "Yeah, her. M-Mom said she welcomes everyone to America, kinda like Arnie does."

"Arnie?"

There was a slight sniff, then "Arnie's the ticket guy at the circus. He welcomes everyone to the show."

"I see."

Dick lowered his eyes and began picking at a loose thread in his light jacket. He tugged on it and wrapped the small red string around his fingers, pulling hard and watching as the tips of his fingers turned red then purple from the cut off circulation. When it began to hurt he unwrapped the strand, and watched the color return to normal. "I would help him sometimes..." He continued suddenly after a few moments of silence. His voice was hushed, and his eyes never lifted from the thread binding his fingers. "Before the show started I would stay with him and help people find their seats. I could do it...because we were the last performance." Blue eyes closed and a tear squeezed from beneath the lowered lids. "You save the best for last, and we were the best."

But not anymore. The Flying Graysons would never fly again, and it was all because of _him. _That man, the one who argued with Mr. Haley, the one whom Dick saw before the show. Dick had tried to tell his parents, tried to relay the terrible feeling he got from looking at that man; his cruel black eyes and grim unshaven face. Dick had known, he had _known _that that man, whoever he was, meant harm to the circus, to his family. But he hadn't been insistent enough, hadn't pushed the matter. How could he? The music was playing, the lights were shining, it was their cue to go on! And his father had drilled into him that when they were out there, above the crowds, he couldn't have anything else in his mind. His thoughts had to be clear, even, with no distractions. And so...he had just pushed it aside.

And by doing so, it was no different than if he himself had cut the rope.

A choked sob escaped the backseat, drawing Alfred's attention from the road. "Master Dick..." He pulled off the highway into the well lit parking lot of an all night convenience store, though the lot was empty save for them. "Here lad," He said, beckoning to the sobbing child. Tears flowing, Dick crawled over the front seat, where he was pulled close by the driver. "There now.." Alfred said soothingly, wrapping his arms around the shaking child protectively. They were so the same, this child in his arms, and the one he'd sheltered those many years ago. And just like then, he knew now what barb dug into the heart of this child. "It's not your fault Master Dick, it never was."

"But I should have...I could have..." the boy hiccuped sadly, and a fresh wave of sobs erupted from his small form. "I saw him! And I should have..."

"No," Alfred said, putting gentle force behind his words, "There is one person to blame for this. It was his choices that led to your parents' deaths. Not yours." There was no response, but then, Alfred did not expect one. He held the child for a long while, until the sobs subsided, and the shaking stilled. A few small sniffs told him that Dick had not fallen asleep leaning against him, but was probably close.

Alfred slowly moved to put the car in drive. The unexpected detour toward the docks had taken them into areas of Gotham that were best avoided at night. While that truth rang clear for most of the city, the warehouses and old abandoned buildings in this part of the city made it even more so. It was getting later by the moment, and so Alfred deemed it time for them to move on.

Dick sat in silence as the car began moving again. His eye were dry and scratchy from rubbing them so much, but he was beginning to feel too tired to care. He felt a bit self conscious at crying in front of someone he did not really know, but he had felt so alone. It was like a deep hole had been dug inside his chest. He felt empty and hollow, and could not bear the thought of moving away from the human contact, even if it was just to the other side of the car seat. Blinking his tired eyes slowly, the exhausted child wiped his sleeve across his face once and tilted his head so he could continue to watch out the window at the passing landscape.

Alfred's words stayed with him, and Dick knew the truth in them. There was only one person to blame for the tragedy that had befallen his small family. And for the first time in his short life, Dick felt the white hot fires of hatred fill his heart. It burned inside him, and filled the emptiness that had grown within him with it's searing heat. He wanted that man dead. He wanted him dead so that he would never again steal parents from children. He wanted him dead because that might soothe the ache that had been threatening to take him over ever since he watched his parents, always so graceful in flight, fall to the ground, their blood soaking into the sawdust and hay of the circus floor.

And suddenly, the man who's face was forever in his mind, was there. Dick blinked. Maybe, because he was thinking about him, he'd mistakenly seen the face on the man who stood at the street corner they approached. The light turned red, and the car came to a steady halt. The man pulled his jacket collar up around his face as he stepped off the curb, crossing the street in front of them. The child's blue eyes narrowed as he followed the obscured face, desperately trying to see past the cloth barrier. As the man reached the other side, he glanced over his shoulder, and Dick gasped audibly as he saw the face of his parents' murderer.

"Master Dick? What is it?" Alfred followed the child's line of site, but he was too late, the man had slipped into the side door of a darkened warehouse.

The light turned green, and Dick looked at the street sign. _Nelson Drive _he committed the name to memory as the car began moving once more. "Nothing..." He said, letting a sleepy note fall into his voice. "Just a dog..." He fell silent, wondering if he should tell Alfred what he saw. No, he couldn't. Alfred had told him that that man was solely to blame. What if Alfred stopped the car and tried to go after him? He might get hurt, something Dick did not want to have happen to the kind man. So he kept his jaw clenched shut for the rest of the drive, so much so that it began aching as they turned down a long, tree lined lane that led to a castle in the distance.

It wasn't a castle, Dick decided, but it was large enough to be, and imposing enough. Stone walls rose into the air, blocking out the moon with their immense height. Dick stared in awe, there was no way someone lived here. It was like a museum, or a fortress, but not a home.

"Welcome to Wayne Manor, Master Dick." Alfred said with a hint of pride in his cultured voice. The car continued around the home and into a car filled garage larger than most circus tents. They pulled alongside a waiting man who stepped forward and opened the passenger door. Dick stared at him curiously until a reassuring pat on his shoulder from Alfred moved him. He stepped out of the car and stood silently in place until Alfred had joined him at his side.

"Daniel, this is Master Dick," Alfred said to the man who'd met them. "He will be staying with us a while. I trust his effects arrived ahead of us."

"Yessir," Daniel, a young man with short red hair said crisply, glancing down and offering Dick a bright smile that touched his green eyes. "They arrived a half hour ago, and have been taken to his room, all save for the bike there."

Dick followed his gesture and spotted his bicycle, already secured to a bike stand with many others. It was shorter than the others it was housed with, built for a child's stature. It's worn and battered red paint stood out next to the glistening graphics on its neighboring mountain bikes, all of which appeared to have had very little to no wear. Still, Dick had gotten that bike when he was seven, mastered tricks with his father in the gravel parking lots of the circus, and wouldn't trade it for the world.

Tearing his gaze from it, he followed Alfred through a door into the house, leaving Daniel behind to park the car. They passed a few men and women dressed in uniforms of gray and dark blue, and Dick wondered if all those people lived in the house too. There were certainly enough rooms, and Dick lost count of the closed doors they passed until Alfred stopped in front of one on the second floor. It was not unlike the rest of the doors, and Dick wondered how Alfred was ever able to keep them all straight in his mind. But obviously he was able to, for he opened the door and gestured for Dick to enter after he clicked the light on.

The room was large, but Dick had begun to realize that when it came to Wayne Manor, no other adjective was necessary. He had a sneaking suspicion that his family's entire trailer could have fit neatly in one corner of the bedroom. The walls were a light blue, with darker blue on the bed and chairs, but Dick was not looking at that. Instead the young child walked through the door and stopped in front of a neat stack of boxes. The top box was open, and he quietly looked inside, pulling the top most item out. Dick had always been used to seeing his picture. Flyers and posters adorned just about any flat surface on the circus grounds, heralding the stars of the show for the visiting crowds. But the photo he held in his shaking hands, this was not a picture of the "Flying Graysons", aerialist extraordinaires. No, this was the Grayson family, on their last family vacation to Disney World. The three of them stood in front of the giant castle, all wearing fake mouse ears and grinning ear to ear as Dick sat perched on his father's tireless shoulders.

"Master Dick," Alfred said softly, coming up behind him and laying his hand on the boy's shoulders. "How would you like some cocoa before bed?" Dick nodded wordlessly, still looking at the photo. He heard Alfred say he would return shortly, the retreating footsteps and the closing door. Then he was alone.

Dick gingerly returned the photo to its box before taking a seat on the soft bed. He looked at the boxes stacked in front of him. There were four in all. Was that all there was? Was that all that the Grayson's lives had amounted too? Four boxes stacked neatly on the floor of a strange room. He knew his parents had never been the type to hold onto material possessions. In the circus, you had your trailer, and that was it. Unneeded items were not practical in such a limited space, and so they did not hold onto much. But somehow, he thought there would be more representing their lives. Part of him wanted to go through the boxes now and see what was there, but another part of him resisted. Lastly, and mostly, a part of him hoped he would be able to return here eventually and sort through the items properly.

Alfred entered then with a tray on which rested a mug of cocoa and a few sugar cookies. He sat them on the bedside table, then walked to where a few small luggage pieces Dick had not noticed till then rested. He opened one bag and pulled out a pair of Dick's pajamas, his favorite pair, the ones with tiny gray elephants all over them.

"The police agreed to release your belongings," Alfred said, laying the soft shirt and matching pants on the foot of the bed. "They believed no evidence of motive would be found in your trailer, and so Master Bruce persuaded them that the items best belonged with their owner as soon as was possible."

Dick nodded, letting the heat of the mug warm his hands. "Thank you," he said softly, but sincerely.

Alfred nodded, "Well then, I believe it would be best for you to get some rest now." As if in response to that, a wide mouthed yawn racked the young form still seated on the bed. Alfred smiled and walked to the head of the bed. He turned the covers back neatly, then picked up the tray and tucked it under his arm. He walked to the door and paused with his hand on the doorknob. "I would have much enjoyed meeting your parents Master Dick. They must have been very special, for they gifted the world a fine young man."

Dick smiled weekly, "Good night Mr. Alfred."

"Good night Master Dick."

The door closed silently, and Dick heard the footsteps slowly fade before he was left in silence. He sat for a long time, his gaze rested unseeing on a spot somewhere in the corner, his mind wandering and wondering at how it could have all come to this. Where would he be right now, if his life had not fallen with his parents? Cake and ice cream...they always had cake and ice cream after a successful show, provided by Mr. Haly to all the crew. His favorite was chocolate, packed to the rim with sprinkles so that they fell off his plate when he tried to move it. Cake and ice cream...

But no, that wasn't right. They had been the last act, so the cake and ice cream would have been long over. Instead, the tiny Grayson family would have by now retired to their trailer. In an attempt to settle down from the adrenaline and sugar induced high of the night, they would have went over the show. Dick may have been their son, and he may have only been a child, but when it came to the Flying Grayson's act, he was an equal partner, and his parents would listen to his opinion with rapt attention as the three would go over their art. The lines were a bit uneven tonight, leading to a jerky swing, better have Harold look at that before the next show... the western lights were at a bad angle, a bit blinding on the back swing, Tommy should know better than to set them like that... Back and forth they would go, over every detail, leaving no subject untouched until they were satisfied that the next show would be perfect.

Dick had no idea how much time had passed when the approaching footsteps knocked him from his reverie. He jumped to his feet, clicking the light off then all but diving into the bed. He pulled the covers to his chin, covering his still clothed form as the steps paused outside his door. He could see the shadows moving under it and the faintest sounds of the doorknob turning made him clench his eyes closed and slow his breathing, pretending he was asleep.

"Master Bruce." Alfred's voice sounded softly from further down the hallway and it's approach stilled the movement beyond the door.

"How is he?" A new voice sounded.

Dick risked opening his eyes to tiny slits at the sound. He'd heard that voice earlier, at the circus, but it was a little different now. That was Bruce Wayne. He'd been the one to come over as Dick sat in the back of the police car, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, as the police tried to keep curious onlookers from hounding the poor child. He'd laid his hand on Dick's shoulder and promised him in a soft voice that he'd be taken care of. Softly spoken words and loudly speaking actions. It had not been long after that that Alfred had arrived and whisked Dick into the back of the black car. He understood the basics. He was a witness in the crime that had claimed his parents' lives. He couldn't leave the city, but the circus could not be put on hold, regardless of Mr. Haly's words to the contrary. So Mr. Wayne volunteered to take the child in, to provide a safe place for him to stay until his parents' killer was captured.

"He is exhausted, but strong," Alfred's reply came after a moment. "I believe a good nights rest will help where nothing else can."

"I'd...I'd like to speak to him,"

"I know lad, but he is already asleep, and I believe it best to wait till morning."

The hand released the doorknob, and the two stepped away from the door. Their voices faded a bit, but Dick could still hear them.

"Alfred, do you think this is the right thing to do? He saw his parents...and I couldn't do anything. He and I, we're..."

"I know Master Bruce," Alfred interrupted quietly, "And that is precisely why I believe that this _is _the right thing to do."

There was a pause before Bruce spoke again. It might have been the distance that had grown between Dick and the speakers, but something changed in the soft voice. Something that made Dick pull the covers a little tighter under his chin. "This shouldn't have happened. And the killer is still out there."

"Yes, you are correct." Alfred agreed.

"I'll be downstairs."

"Of course, Master Bruce."

The speakers either finished talking, or had moved too far away to be heard. He waited a few more minutes, watching the slit at the bottom of the door for what seemed an eternity. Finally, Dick sat up and pushed the covers off of him, swinging his legs off the bed.

_The killer is still out there... _

The words echoed in his mind, giving him the resolve to stand up and walk over to the french doors leading out onto a small balcony. The killer was still out there, and Dick knew where to find him. Dick's eyes darkened as he thought of the man crossing the street and disappearing into the shadows of the old buildings. He could see his eyes clearly, they were the same ones he'd seen slipping out of the tent as he and his parents watched for their cue, the same eyes he seen glaring and angry as he yelled at Mr Haly, promising that without his "protection" the circus would suffer. Dick had not realized what was meant by that then, but he understood now. He understood, but that understanding came at a price he'd never been willing to pay.

He stepped out onto the balcony and walked to the iron railing. For a moment he stood, staring into the black of the night as it swallowed the ground beneath him. He ignored the cold biting at his hands and cheeks, and stared into the blackness, gathering the courage to plunge into it and face the monsters it veiled…..

To be continued

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Ch 1 Author's notes 

On this website, an author named Cmar asked "What if Bruce Wayne never went to the circus that night?" What follows was a wonderful set of tales labled under the series name "Birds of a Feather" I highly recommend anyone read it because it's a great set of stories. They are also in some way an inspiration for my own story. I have been kicking this idea around for a while, and stumbling across Cmar's stories gave me the push to finally set pen to paper and finger to keyboard and see what happened. Cmar's literary wrench was driven in at the very beginning, creating Bruce's decision to pass on a night at the circus; I drive my wrench in a little later, asking, "When Dick went to find Zucco, what if someone beat him to it?"

I want to explore a little bit of how life in Gotham would have progressed without the influence of a teenaged superhero dressed like a streetlight, witty quips, bad puns and all. I hope it turns out readable, and if it also happens to be _enjoyable, _then I will definitely have a grin on my face (end subtle "please review" hint)... (end blatant "Please review" hint) I tossed this in the Batman section because it just didn't seem like it would fit into the Nightwing section.

This is my first piece of DC fiction, and while I do have a working knowledge of the comics, there's bound to be inacuracies around. Some are on purpose, such as the inclusion of a certain character in the second chapter. I know that in canon he is introduced after Robin's debut, but in this fic all DC is fair game, and I may twist somethings to make it fit. I pray I don't butcher anything to the point of pissing off the fans, and I appreciate any feedback to let me know how I'm doing.

About the Title.

There is a Rom quote:

Jeck dilo kerel but dile hai but dile keren dilimata

"One madman makes many madmen, and many madmen make madness"

Using my limited (read: nonexistent) knowledge of the Romani language, I deduced that Dilimata probably means madness...or some variation of the word. It's a fitting name since this story turns the canon upside down just to see what madness ensues. I apologize if I'm incorrect on the translation, and will be very grateful if someone lets me know for sure.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's notes following chapter

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Dick took a final look back at the bedroom he had left. It was dark, but not menacingly so. Instead, it seemed sort of lonely, empty. It was a vast home, but where was the laughter, where was the life? He shook his head. It must be his own imagination, his own sadness blurring his perception.

He considered briefly leaving a note, after all, Alfred had been nice to him, and so had Bruce, although they'd only met briefly. Was leaving like this sort of cruel? Yes, but no crueler than bringing them into his problems would be. He wasn't stupid, he knew that he was a witness, and that the man who killed his parents would not hesitate to snuff out the existence of a ten year old boy to save himself. They said he would be safe here, but what if that man came here looking for him? Would that high fence and gate they'd passed through be enough to keep out a murderer? Dick doubted it, and he didn't want to bring that kind of evil here. Even if they wanted to help him, he wouldn't want them to end up like his parents. It was another reason why, the sooner he left, the better.

His eyes drifted over to the boxes, and he wondered briefly what would happen to them. Probably they would be thrown out, for there was little reason to keep them, and no next of kin to send them to. Dick shook his head suddenly, there was no use in thinking about it.

On impulse rather than any real thought, he swung himself over the iron rail and clung to the lattice work on the side of the house. This time of the year, the flowers had died back, and it took little effort to descend into the night. When he could see the ground, he let go and dropped the rest of the way, landing silently in a crouch in the shadows. He looked around curiously, but saw no one. No security, and thankfully no guard dogs patrolled the grounds.

Staying close to the house, he crept along, crawling when low windows would have revealed him to any of the manor's inhabitants. He felt a little like he was wasting his time, for the home was quiet, and no one was looking for stray children creeping through the shrubs. Still, he took his time, pausing frequently and listening for anything. He never considered what he might have said had he been caught, and thankfully it never came to that.

An open door stood ahead of him, and soft voices made him pause. Creeping closer, he slowly looked into the opening, prepared to run if anyone saw him or raised an alarm. He'd finally made it to the garage, his destination from the beginning. Inside, he saw no one, though the voices were clearer. He stayed low, inching his way between the rows of shined and polished cars. He recognized one voice as Daniels, the young man who'd parked the car he'd arrived in. The second voice was lighter, a girl, and she was giggling at something Daniel had said. They were at the far end of the garage, and Dick had a clear view of his bicycle, still resting in the bike stand.

When the voices moved farther away and the sound of a car door opening and shutting echoed in the distance, Dick made his move. He ran as soundlessly as his small form could to the bike rack, risking a glance towards the voices. Daniel had escorted one of the young maids to her car, and was standing with his back to Dick, managing to block the maid's view of the child as well.

Dick wasted no time sliding his bike off the rack, cringing as the weight of the bike scraped across the metal. Thankfully the sound was covered by the car starting, but that meant Dick had little time. He rolled the bike back towards the still open side door and made it outside before he was seen.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he allowed himself a small smile at his success. It was short lived however, as the woman's voice rang out.

"Oh no!" she said in frustrated alarm, "I've lost my card key!"

"Again Jody?" Daniel said with an amused chuckle. "That's the forth time this month." His laughter nearly drowned out the girl's growl of frustration.

"You're not helping Daniel," She said with thinly veiled annoyance. A shuffle could be heard as she dug around in her bag. "I had it this morning I know! When I was dusting Mr. Wayne's room."

"Well you certainly can't go there now and retrieve it." Daniel mused, "Well, maybe you could. Especially in that short little maid skirt you girls prance around in."

The sound of a heavy cloth bag colliding with an arm or maybe a head was followed by an indignant yelp.

"Alright alright! I'm joking." Daniel insisted hurriedly. "Go on down to the gate and I'll open it from here. You'll find your card tomorrow."

"Thank you!" came the relieved reply.

If anything else was said, Dick did not hear it as he kicked off, speeding towards the massive iron gates as fast as his legs could peddle. The grounds illuminated around him suddenly, and he peeled off to the side, deeper into the landscaping and trees as the car moved away from the house and began its trek to the gate. Dick took a short cut across the yard, clenching his jaw as the terrain jolted him in his direct route to the gate. He made it barely in front of the maid's car, and ducked behind a hedgerow as the car came to a stop. On cue, the gates opened, silent despite their enormity. As the car exited, Dick hesitated until the gates had almost shut, then, at the last possible moment, he and his bicycle slipped through the tiny crack. The gates closed with finality behind him, and Dick knew there was no turning back.

He watched until the car had rounded a corner, and the taillights could no longer be seen, before he slowly began following. Wayne Manor sat at the end of a lane that held no other homes. Dick suspected that all the vacant wooded land he was passing belonged to the Wayne family. Coming from the circus, with rows of trailers crammed close into whatever space was allocated for them, you could hear everything from the Trelawney's new baby boy crying, to Arnie's beer induced snoring. But here, the night was deathly still and quiet. No neighbors, no dogs barking, no cars passing as people got off late shifts and made their way home. Total isolation, quiet and alone. Maddening. Dick couldn't help but decide then that there was nothing the large, painfully quiet manor could offer him.

The lane sloped downhill, giving the boy an unobstructed view of all ahead of him as he rode closer to town. Peddling was not necessary, so he allowed his momentum to carry him downhill as his mind drifted to the circus. They had not left town, and maybe, if this whole mess could be resolved tonight, he could rejoin them. He had to, for without the circus, he had nothing. There was no family. His mother's parents hated him because of his father's blood. He'd only met them twice, and had little desire for a third meeting. His father's family was as elusive as the wind. The Romani were travelers, and Dick's small family had never met up with them at the same place twice during the summer months that they visited them. Dick never knew how his father had known where they would be. He'd never asked, and he'd never assumed that the need would arise for him to find them on his own one day. Tears burned his eyes as he thought of this. Everything was just… _wrong_. His life had fallen apart, and Dick had no means with which to pick up the pieces.

Slowly, the woods thinned, and the dark shadows or forests were replaced by well lit, all night gas stations, and businesses closed for the night. Circles of light offered by street lamps illuminated the world in spaced intervals as the child peddled though unknown territory. The quiet of the forest road had been sleepy; but the quiet of this urban sprawl was laced with danger and anticipation. Dick would have been lying if he'd said he wasn't afraid…but he'd also have been lying had he said he wasn't somehow strangely exhilarated by his surroundings.

Keeping his eyes peeled, he rode until he found a bus stop. It was his only choice. The docks were miles from here. Even if he knew the exact direction to go, it would take him days to cross the city. By then, that man would be gone, if he wasn't already. Dick pushed thoughts that he might be too late aside as he looked for a place to stash his bike. He decided hastily on simply parking it behind a gas station. Sneaking by the windows, he went unseen by the clerk, a young man with earphones on, singing into the top of the broom handle as he periodically swept the floor.

It was with great hesitation that Dick propped the bike against the building. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that his bike would not be here when he got back, but there was nothing he could do. His bike had brought him as far as it could, just as it always had, and leaving it behind somehow felt like betrayal of his father's memory. He tried to tell himself that he was doing this _for _the memory of his parents, but it did not make it any easier. It was the approaching sounds of the bus that finally made him walk away. He made a point not to look back.

The bus came to a screechy halt at the sign and bench that marked the bus stop. The doors swung open to reveal the driver. When his mother had always warned "never talk to strangers", this must have been who she was talking about. A large beefy face with small eyes glared down at him over the top of a cigar that smelled like something dead. He looked suspiciously like one of the animals in the circus' small petting zoo, a large hog named "Slopper" whose name was aptly earned.

"Where you headed boy?" The driver grunted when Dick made no move to board the bus.

Dick swallowed, "The- uh, the docks…sir."

"Not if you don't get on the bus, you ain't."

That at least unglued Dick's feet enough for him to step up onto the bus. He realized with a sickening feeling that the dead smell was not coming from Slopper II' s cigar. Instead, it emanated from somewhere deeper inside the bus. The dread was only chased away when Dick saw the token box sitting on a small poll in front of him. He had no tokens, and panic rose inside him. Before he could bolt from the bus, or try a cover story, the driver saw his expression and raised a large hand to remove the cigar from his mouth.

"S'okay kid," he said, waving his cigar at a sign, dropping ashes close enough to him that Dick was sure his hair would ignite. "Kids under twelve ride free, an' you don't look a day over six. Hell, my dogs chew on things bigger'en you."

Dick stood in a moment of indecision. On the one hand, he had a free ride, something the well worn sign by the door confirmed. On the other, he'd been placed somewhere on a level of importance with the driver's dog food, and did not know quite how to react to that. The driver was grinning gamely, enjoying his joke. Dick finally just smiled and nodded politely before moving to find a seat.

At this late hour, the bus was quiet and almost empty. Passengers sat dispersed, everyone claiming a small nitch to themselves. There were a couple of middle-aged men, all looking worn as they got off work and finally made their way home. A young girl and boy sat huddled in the rear, each wearing an earphone as they listened to some music and effectively ignored the rest of the bus. An older gentleman was sleeping soundly, taking up a row as he dozed, his tattered coat a makeshift blanket. No one seemed to care as the young child boarded and slipped into an empty row, and the bus pulled away from the curb before he'd even taken a seat.

There was one stop between there and the docks, at which time the young couple slid from their seats and exited the bus. Dick lost sight of them as they ducked into a dark alley beside an old closed down department store and the bus began moving again.

They drove a few more miles, and Dick watched for any thing that he recognized. It all looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't be sure, and the anxiety rose in him. He finally spotted Nelson Drive, though it was a different corner, obviously a few roads over. Still, he calmed his breathing, he knew where he was, and that was all that mattered. The bus continued for another half mile before it finally began to slow as it approached the empty bus stop. Dick was on his feet and moving to the door before it ever stopped. The driver was watching him with a frown, "You live around here kid?"

Dick shrugged noncommitally, "Yeah," he said shortly.

"Well, you be careful now. This ain't a place to be wandering around, y'know?"

"S'okay," Dick mumbled, one foot off the bus already. He didn't look back, but heard the driver mutter something about "latchkey kids running around in the middle of the night" and "damn parents without a lick of common sense". He ignored it all, and pulled his collar around him as he retreated from the bus and walked back towards Nelson Drive. After a moment, the bus pulled off behind him, it's engine loud and disrupting in the still night. After it was gone, the quiet fell in place again, and it was earily lonesome to the small child who clung to the shadows.

It took little time to backtrack to the street sign he'd seen, and even less time to finally find the wharehouse that his parents' killer had slipped into. He stood some distance away at first, afraid to approach, afraid of what he'd find. He didn't know if that man was still in there, but his gut told him that he was.

Now that he'd finally arrived, Dick had little idea what he would actually do. That was a killer in there, cold blooded and evil. Dick couldn't stop him. No matter what hatred boiled in the child's veins, he knew that to be true. He knew that man would kill him, and then no one would be around to bring the killer to justice. Dick's parents would never be avenged.

A pay phone stood under the shelter of a street light, and Dick debated on calling the police. They would know what to do. But what if the killer had already gone? It was then that Dick made his plan. He would find out for sure whether or not the building held the killer. He wouldn't go inside, but instead would sneak around until he could find an opening. A window or crack in the old metal siding. Once he knew for sure that he was in there, Dick would call the police and have them handle it.

That decided, the child crept around the side of the warehouse. He saw a few cars parked nearby, but there was little indication as to where the owners of those cars were. They could be in the other warehouses in the area, the ones which were still in use, and not in abandoned disrepair like this one.

He was near the back of the building, eying a pile of crates, wondering if they would support his weight so he could look through the cracks in the boarded up window above him, when a crash and a pained cry froze him. It came from inside the warehouse, not far from him. Caution no longer cared about, Dick scrambled onto the boxes as quietly as he could until he was level with the wooden boards. He looked through the cracks and was given a clear view of most of the warehouse. A large glass skylight allowed the moonlight to cast the interior in pale light, illuminating the vast space filled with building debris. Steel girders were piled haphazardly high in one corner, old shelving in another. Sheets of plate glass were stacked nearby and it was at the base of these that a figure huddled.

Dick's breath caught in his throat. It was _him. _The killer. The murderer, huddled like a beaten dog on the floor. Dick did not know what made the ruthless killer cower like he was, and for a moment, he didn't care. All he knew was that the man would not escape. Not this time.

"Where's my money Zucco?" The voice was like burnt sandpaper, an awful mix of growl and rasp forced through vocal chords. It sent a chill down Dick's spine and he searched the shadows beyond the killer for the speaker. For a moment there was nothing. The labored breathing of the killer-- _Zucco..._-- but no other movement, no other life. But then the shadows moved, coalesced into the form of a man who slowly walked into the square of moonlight which illuminated his features, his face.

Dick jerked back as if he'd been struck. Horror gripped him, and he stumbled back, losing his tenuous footing as the crates shifted and cracked under his weight. They began to fall, and there was nothing he could do to stop them from crashing to the ground. Distantly he heard startled yells sounding from inside the warehouse as he twisted his body to land in a crouch amidst the debris. He was up and running before the final crate hit the ground, darting towards the shadows as metal doors opened behind him.

"Get him!" Dick never looked back as heavy booted footfalls pounded behind him. He ran faster still, sliding around a the corner of the building as his foot hit a slick of oil or grease. He barely regained his footing before realizing that it was too late. He stopped running, breathing hard as he stared into the muzzle of a handgun leveled at his head.

* * *

A/N + Apology:

Ack, I'm sorry. This chapter has been lying ignored for weeks with literally 2 paragraphs needed to finish it. I blame laziness... but also the fact that my comic muse decided to pack up and run to that little corner of your brain where dead plotlines live. So, what I'm trying to say is that the future of this fic is iffy. That doesn't mean I won't update. The fact that I pulled it out and finished this chapter on a whim tonight is kind of promising since usually when my fandom phases pass I don't revisit them for a long time. I do know where this story is going, lol I was smart enough to leave detailed notes for myself. I just need to sit down and write it. It should be a decently long story, and I will try (try no promises) to get another chapter out in the next month or so.

By the way, muses are a fickle lot. This part that you are reading about right now? It was supposed to take no more than five or six paragraphs. One chapter at the most. But here it looks like it might run 3 or 4 chapters. I find that funny... in an "Holy crap, I'm not in control of my own stories" sort of way...


	3. Chapter 3

I totally wasn't planning to resurrect this story tonight, but one of my favorite Nightwing writers started a new fic, so it got me going. I literally just wrote this, so it probably has errors and all, but...yeah, here ya go!

Disclaimer: Still don't own it. Why can't you get that?

* * *

Dick was thrown forward where he fell to his knees amidst the dirt and gravel that littered the abandoned warehouse's flooring. Two men stood behind him, their guns trained on the back of his head. In front of him stood the man he'd glimpsed through the window. Half his face was burned, ripped, and torn. What little skin remained was red and stretched over bone and scar tissue. The other half was flawless, and it showed a young face that would have been considered handsome by most. He held no gun, no weapon, but instead he flipped a large coin in his hand lazily as he considered the child thrown at his feet.

Dick spared him a glance, but lowered his gaze quickly from the gruesome sight. He was almost eye level with where Zucco cowered away from the scarred man. Dick knew that he was in danger, that at any moment one of the men behind him could pull the trigger and that would be it. He was afraid, more afraid than he'd ever been facing great heights and death defying stunts. But still, he couldn't waste what could be his last chance to avenge his parents. It would be his last act, but if he died with his last act being for his mother, for his father, then he could die content.

With a cry he pushed himself off the ground and leaped for Zucco. It was a move unexpected by any of the men who watched, so for a moment they didn't react as the child flung himself at the murderer. Zucco threw his hands up over his face but the child assaulted him with all the rage that he could feel. He punched and kicked, and at some point one of his blows hit home and the killer's nose broke with a satisfying crack. All this happened in a heartbeat before someone finally grabbed him and dragged him back off the cowardly mobster.

"Let me go!" Dick roared against his captor, who only tightened his grip around the fighting child.

Above all that, an unexpected sound rang through the warehouse. The scarred man threw his head back and laughed at the sight before him. It was a horrible sound. "Zucco, you stealing candy from babies now? Because I think he's back for revenge!"

The men around them laughed at that, including the one who held Dick, and he felt the grip around him loosen slightly. He might could have wriggled out of his grasp, but he knew he couldn't escape the bullets.

"I don't know who he is T-Two-Face." Zucco sputtered around his bleeding nose. He fought to stand and eyed the child with disdain. Apparently he didn't recognize Dick, a fact that for some reason infuriated him. He wanted Zucco to know him, to fear him.

"You killed my parents!" Dick yelled at him. "I'll make you pay!" Again he fought against the one who held him. But the grip around him was iron.

The laughter faded from Two-Face as he fingered the coin in his hand thoughtfully. "When?"

Dick paused at the unexpected interest. "Tonight." He said softly. "I'm going to kill him." He added, glaring at Zucco who finally recognized him.

"You're that brat from the Circus!" He exclaimed, earning a kick from one of Two-Face's minions.

"Do whatever you want to me," Dick said to Two-Face, "But _after_ he pays for what he did."

Two-Face chuckled. "Out of the mouths of babes." He turned to Zucco, "Looks like it's your unlucky night. Who will you answer to first?" He flipped the coin he'd been holding high into the air and caught it in a smooth practiced motion. He held his hand over it a moment before revealing it to all. The side that faced them was destroyed, scratched beyond recognition, much like it's owner's face. Governed by some logic that only he understood, the criminal took out a gun and tossed it at Dick. "Have at it kid."

Dick caught it haphazardly. He'd never held a gun before, and so for a moment he stared at the slick silver surface as one of the henchmen stepped forward. "You're going to let him kill him boss? What about our money? He can't talk if he's dead!"

Two-Face glared at the one who spoke, "The kid's justice comes first!" He proclaimed, and that was enough. No one else questioned him, and so he turned back to Dick. "Go ahead kid, put a bullet in him. Of course then we'll probably kill you and drop your body in the harbor, but everyone knows justice can be a miserable mistress."

The man behind him released Dick and he stepped forward slowly. He held the gun loosely in his hand. The weapon was too large for him to hold comfortably. It felt wrong. Dimly he heard Two-Face commenting that they would kill him, but Dick had already figured that. Two-Face was a madman, a criminal. It was only by some twist of that same madness that Dick still lived, and was now armed facing the man he hated more than anything in this world. But... was he a killer? He wanted Zucco dead, he wanted him to hurt and suffer, and feel everything that Dick himself was feeling. But at the same time, this felt wrong.

"Come on kid, we ain't got all night." Two-Face said, coming up behind him. "Just point and shoot. It's really one of the simplest things to do in the world."

Simple. It was simple to take a life. It was simple for Zucco to sabotage the high wire rigging that should have kept his parents aloft. It was simple for him to come into Dick's life and destroy it. And it would be simple to return the favor. But still, even as he held the gun in front of him, Dick hesitated.

It wasn't simple.

None of it.

Dick lowered the gun and silently apologized to his parents. He couldn't do it. He couldn't be like Zucco. It may have been simplest way, but it still wasn't _right_.

Zucco watched the hesitation play over the child's face, and his own showed relief. Two-Face also saw the decision made, and made his own. He took out another gun, pointed it at Zucco's head, and pulled the trigger.

The mobster's head snapped back from the bullet's impact and the body crashed back into the sheets of glass behind it. His foot twitched uncontrollably for a moment, then stilled. Blood ran out from under the body, but Dick found himself thinking in a detached way that it wasn't as much blood as he would have expected. He dropped the gun and let it clatter to the ground, the sound fading with the clink of falling glass.

"And justice is served!" Two-Face declared with a gruesome grin as he stepped around Dick and nudged the still form with his well shined shoe. Around him, his henchmen didn't look too pleased, but they'd long figured out that Two-Face's odd whims were better obeyed and accepted. Those who didn't failed to survive in the gang for long. Satisfied, Two-Face turned the gun on the child. "And next on the docket..."

Suddenly the dimly lit warehouse was plunged into darkness. The men began yelling at once and Two-Face demanded to know that the hell was going on. But then someone happened to glance up and the tone of the yells changed with a new emotion. Fear. Outlined against the light of a full moon, the dark figure standing in the skylight was unmistakable.

"It's Batman!"

* * *

Ewww... I can't write Two-Face. You would have thought that with me making him a bad guy in my fic, I would have researched him a bit more, but like I said, this was literally wrote over the last half hour. Umm... I watched Batman Forever last night... does that count? lol, so this Two-Face probably has more in common with the Tommy Lee Jones version than any comic one...and that's not necessarily a good thing.

also, short chapter FTW! \o/


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine. Only the story is, and even it seems to have a mind of its own.

* * *

Dick didn't think, he only moved. There was a chance for escape, and he took it as the madman and his henchmen were thrown into a panic by the appearance of the Dark Knight. Indeed he almost stopped and stared himself, the sight of the man, if it truly was a man, was terrifying. He stood framed against the light of a full moon, and when he spread his arms and leaped down through the busted skylight, it was as if the Devil himself had risen from Hell, come to claim souls for his desolate army.

Dick backed away from Two-Face as the other pointed the gun up and fired at the approaching figure. If any of the bullets hit home, Dick didn't see it, and it did little to slow the oncoming demon. Unnoticed, Dick turned on his heel and ran, deeper into the warehouse, and the darkness. He heard blows hitting behind him, jaws cracking and grunts of pain. All of these came from the henchmen, the Batman made no sound as he grimly decimated the ranks set against him. And those were the ones brave enough to face him. Dick saw others, their fear of the Bat greater than their fear of Two-Face, as they struggled and stumbled over one another in their effort to escape. Still they did not escape Batman's attention, and with a flick of his wrist and the whistle of something unseen slicing through the air, he made the only viable exit erupt into flames. Dick watched the chaos unfold from behind the safety of stacked steel girders and rebar, remnants of long abandoned expansion projects. He searched for an exit, and finally settled on the skylight Batman had made his entrance to. The stacked metal reached almost high enough, he could make the leap to grab the rim and hoist himself through the opening. There was an adjoining warehouse next to the one they were in. He didn't know if there was a way down, but he'd figure something out, anything was better than staying in here.

He was at the top of the stack in moments, but paused at the top. Here, near the ceiling, the small child clinging to the shadows was almost invisible from the ground, but he however, had an unobstructed view. There was little smoke in the warehouse. Despite the explosions spectacular effect, it had been masterfully efficient. It neither filled the warehouse with choking smoke or ignited any of the surrounding materials. It had served its purpose, and now was dying down without the threat of causing more damage than it needed to. Dick payed little attention to that though. Instead he watched the fight.

He'd heard of Batman, everyone had. Most people didn't believe in the Dark Knight. He was an urban legend, something to tell kids so they didn't break curfew. Dick had never given it much thought himself. He was in Gotham one week a year at the most, and had never personally seen Batman, just like he'd never seen Superman when the circus was in Metropolis, or Green Arrow when they'd visited Star City. The existence of Superheroes was a nice sentiment, like thinking Santa was bringing you presents at Christmas, or the Tooth Fairy was leaving five dollars under your pillow for every molar. But that was it. They couldn't be real.

Now, as he sat perched on the top of some half rusted metal, staring down at the figure delivering vicious blows to all who opposed him, Dick Grayson was forced to reconsider his young views on what was real, beyond the safety of the Circus tent. He did, and he was terrified. The Batman, darkness embodied, was terrifying. He shrank back unconsciously, and carelessly shifted the metal he was perched on. The black cowl began to swivel towards him, and he sucked in a sharp breath. At that moment though Two-Face chose to strike, charging headlong into the fray, a crowbar held high over his head. Batman's attention snapped to the oncoming threat instantly. Two-Face slammed the crowbar down and Batman crossed his arms over his head to meet it. Sparks flew from where the metal met the gauntlets covering his arms. A twist of his grip and the crowbar was ripped from the gangster's grasp, and a single punch sent him reeling backwards where he landed at Zucco's still form.

Batman approached him slowly, like a predator, and Dick barely heard his low voice when he spoke. "It's over Harvey."

If the name affected Two-Face, it didn't show. The untouched side of his face sneered, almost matching the perpetual grimace etched into the ruined side. "It was over before you arrived Bats. You were late for the party." At Batman's flicked gaze to the corpse behind him, Two-Face's snarled grin grew. "A little justice served outside the courts. You like?"

Batman's gaze narrowed, and he took another step forward. At that moment Dick stood up. He couldn't help it. Two-Face was insane, that was undeniable, but he'd given Dick justice. It had been swift, not drawn out like a court would have done. And even then Zucco might have weaseled out from under the law. It happened all the time, didn't it? Batman didn't understand how Dick felt. How could he? He'd didn't have to watch his parents bleeding out in front of him. He didn't have to see them, smiling and alive one moment; dead and staring the next. He didn't understand! Neither did Two-Face, neither did anyone, but Two-Face had given Dick everything he'd asked for. Everything he'd wanted. His parents' murderer had paid. And Dick owed him for that.

Dick reached out and grasped a metal hook suspended on a long chain. He took a deep breath and leaped soundlessly from his high perch. The chain bit into his hands, but held his weight as he swung towards his target. He was silent, and Batman never knew what hit him as the child slammed his feet squarely into the caped figures back. With a surprised grunt Batman was thrown forward, headfirst into the sheets of glass and metal that Zucco had earlier slammed into and smashed. The crash was louder this time, but like Zucco, Batman lay still where he landed.

Two-Face stared surprised as the child released the chain and landed without a sound in front of him. Then the gang leader laughed, even reached out to tousle the child's hair. Dick ignored him. His gaze was locked onto the still figure laying amidst the shattered glass. Blood was running from under the cowl, though he could not see the other's face. _What did I do? _

Soon others were running towards them, "He ain't dead." Someone observed. Dick released a shuddering breath as he too saw Batman move with drawn breaths. "Time to leave." Two-Face said.

"C'mon kid, nice moves, but it's time to go." Someone said, an older man who came up beside Dick and put a hand on his shoulder. Dick looked up to see a man in his mid fifties, salt and pepper hair half covered with a bandana. "Batman won't appreciate you knocking him on his ass like that." It wasn't a suggestion, the grip on his shoulder was iron, and he turned the child towards the door where everyone else was escaping. Soon he was being pushed into the backseat of a car as the other slid in beside him. Two-Face climbed in the front passengers seat and someone else slid in under the wheel. The tires squealed as they hit the accelerator, and soon the warehouse was left behind them. Only after a few minutes of silence did Two-Face seem to notice they had a new passenger. "I don't think I remember saying to bring him along Johnny." He remarked, turning around in the seat to face them.

"You saw those moves Boss, he saved your ass." Johnny remarked casually. "Where you from kid?"

"No where." Dick answered softly. He didn't know how to respond, so he kept his responses simple.

"Least we can do is drop him off somewhere Boss."

"Charity cases are going to get you killed one day Johnny." Two-Face said. "Probably by me."

Surprisingly, Johnny chuckled. The driver licked his lips nervously and shot Johnny a look through the rear-view mirror, but the latter did not share the other's discomfort. For whatever reason, he didn't seem that afraid of Two-Face. Maybe he'd just been running in his crew long enough to not take the threat too seriously, or maybe he was just as nuts as Two-Face himself. Dick didn't know. At the moment, he didn't even care. "So where you want us to drop you off kid?" Johnny asked him softly.

Dick opened his mouth, then hesitated. He didn't know. Honestly, he didn't know. He couldn't go back to Wayne Manor, what was the point? Zucco was no longer a threat, to Dick or anyone else. He really needed to go to the police, but what would he tell them? And what about Batman? Would he want revenge? Dick didn't know what to do. Finally he closed his mouth and looked at his hands.

Johnny watched him a moment in silence. "You don't have anywhere to go, do you?"

"Not really." Dick said slowly.

"You adopting a stray Johnny?" Two-Face commented.

"He could be useful. Small, agile, you saw those moves." He repeated. "Kid knocked Bats on his Bat-ass."

Two-Face hmphed, turned and began barking at the driver to pick up the pace. Ignored in the backseat, Johnny turned back to Dick and stuck out a hand. "I'm Johnny." He said.

Dick eyed his hand for a moment. He wondered vaguely if he would ever wake up from this nightmare, feared he never would. Finally the child took the other's hands and shook it, like his father had taught him. "Dick."

* * *

Author's Notes (Please read)

I worked on this story in 2007, then it sat until now. Therefore, I'd like to make a few fundamental changes here and there. That being said, I'll probably take this story down some time in the coming weeks. When I repost it, I'm thinking I will move it to the Nightwing category (though that's undecided). I know there are a few story alerts around for it, but if you'd like to follow it you might want to put it on an Author alert instead in case I do move it.

This is by far the toughest story I've tackled. I just can't get the voices right in my head (because_ that_ sounds sane...lol)


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